


Great in Small things

by lightly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightly/pseuds/lightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was fifteen.  Dean tried to tell himself.  Fif-fucking-teen.  And his brother.</p><p>Starts pre-series and goes through Season one.  Mentions of underage wanting, but no actual sex until Sam is of age.  A spot of frottage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great in Small things

Great in small things

 

 _I. Dean_

 

Sam was fifteen. Dean tried to tell himself. Fif-fucking-teen. And his brother. He tried to push the strange and alien feelings from his mind, but his dick seemed to have a special mind all of its own. And it’s not like these feelings were strange and or alien, he’d had them before, countless times, he enjoyed indulging in them even. With long, slow jerk off sessions in the shower while thinking of firm buttocks, soft, supple breasts, or the smooth, toned lines of a back, or well muscled abs that he had described to Sammy - in one bragging session - as being ‘rock hard’. Sam had covered his ears and yelled at Dean to “Shut the fuck up, _gross._ ”

“Virgin.” Dean laughed, and clapped Sam on the back a little harder than he meant too.

 

Zach Jenkins was a long time fantasy, a love me long time fantasy that still got him hard even though it was close to a year old. Zach was his fall back, ‘never failed to get him off’ fantasy, but the day that Zach’s long, lean, football sculpted body was replaced by another long, just as lean body; Dean knew he had a problem. This body wasn’t as defined, the muscles half developed as its boyish charms nudged their way into maturity.

“Awww no, _Sammy._ ” Dean barely breathed his brother’s name as he came. He felt dirty, despite the hot water beating down on him. He bit his lip hard, and tried to concentrate on the pain and not the glorious feeling in his dick. But the blood he tasted felt like grit and reeked of guilt.

 

 _I. Sam_

 

Sam woke up after he came in his dream. He woke tangled in sweat slicked sheets with Dean’s name on his lips. He bit back the urge to call it out and then he remembered that Dean wasn’t there that night, he and Dad were out, he was alone. For once he was grateful of that as he looked down at his damp crotch. He lifted the waist band of his shorts and saw his now flaccid cock and the remnants of his dream. It wouldn’t have been the first time he woke nosily from a wet dream, but it would have been the first time he dreamed about… he could still feel Dream Dean’s hands on his hips. He climbed out of his bed, and shuffled to the bathroom, the ugly green motel carpet was scratchy and uncomfortable against his bare left foot. He looked down and saw that one of his socks, he had worn to bed to stave of the cold, had come off and was nestled somewhere in his dirty sheets. He shucked off his tee and carefully wriggled out of his shorts, letting them fall to the dingy floor. He’d rinse them out once he’d showered.

He had no idea what time it was, he guessed it was somewhere close to dawn, Dean and Dad would be back soon – he half hoped they would be and half hoped they wouldn’t. The dream was still fresh in his mind, Dean’s hands, Dean’s tongue, Dean pushing him down and holding him steady while he gently thrust into him. Sam felt sure that Dream Dean was holding back, not wanting to hurt him.

“You’re Fifteen now, Sammy.” Dream Dean had said. “Time to man up.”

Real Dean had said the same thing. “You’re Fifteen now Sammy, it’s time to man up.” But unlike Dream Dean, Real Dean’s voice had been light and joking completely devoid of the heat of arousal. Real Dean had been talking about Jenna Parkinson, a girl Dean saw him talking to last time Dean came to pick him up from school.

Sam stepped into the hot but reluctant stream of water that trickled from the shower head. The minute he closed his eyes and let the water beat against his face the dream was back, this time Dean was standing in the shower with him, the water was running, dripping from his close cropped hair and flowing over the smooth lines of Dean’s body.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dream Dean beckoned to him and just like that, Sam was hard again.

“Oh _god._ ”

 

ǀǀ

 

 _II. Dean_

 

Sam was going on his first date. Not his first first date, Dean helped him get ready for that four years ago. A chaste little meal at the local diner in a small town, with the owner of that local diner’s daughter. Dean had laughed at Sam, Sam had been embarrassed and Dad never found out.

No, this date was with a boy, and Dean wasn’t helping Sam get ready for this one because Dean wasn’t even supposed to know about it. But it wasn’t his fault that Sam was such a sucky liar. Ok, that’s a lie, Sam wasn’t a sucky liar, but he was bad at hiding things from Dean. Dean was aware of Sam’s every breath; sometimes that fact seemed a little stalkerish but most of those times he didn’t care. He was also aware that sometimes, Sam would say Dean’s name when he jerked off, in the shower, in bed late at night, feverish and almost painfully quiet. Guilt gnawed at him every time he heard Sam’s strained voice, he fought the urge to go to him, press him down against his bed. But Dad was there and how he never heard Sam Dean didn’t know, maybe he did and ignored it, just like Dean forced himself to.

So Sam had this date, and Dean wasn’t even jealous, he wasn’t.

He wasn’t.

But there was this feeling that pooled low in his stomach, it burned with equal parts guilt and fear, made his inside clench and twist. Because this was Sam, _his_ Sammy, they shared everything, or at least Dean had thought they did, but Sam couldn’t seem to tell him that he wasn’t exactly straight and that he had met this boy he kinda maybe liked. Dean thought he might feel better about the date if Sam had told him about it.

No, then again maybe he wouldn’t.

 

 _II. Sam_

 

Dad was going to be away for a few days on a munitions run. He never asked either of them to go with him so it was no surprise when he said he would be taking off without them for a few days. They were between hunts, had been for almost a few weeks so Sam was cheerfully throwing himself into his school work, and…other things.

Dane Andrews had really soft hands, distractingly soft, and they felt so good when they brushed against Sam’s bare forearms. When Dane had asked him to go for coffee, Sam had stumbled over what to say, he’d wanted to say yes because, _hell_ yes. But there was a part of him that felt like he was betraying Dean, or that memory of Dean that he beat off to when he thought he could chance it. Eventually, he’d been worn down; they had stayed in one place long enough for Sam to be wooed. Not that he would admit to being wooed, how much of a girl would that make him?

Dane had lips like Dean’s soft and full, if Dean didn’t have rough hands, scarred and calloused, then Sam could almost pretend that it was Dean when Dane touched him. But he couldn’t pretend.

 

 _II. Dean again_

 

He wondered to himself if maybe following Sam and this guy that Sam kinda maybe sort of liked in that _way_ , was a little bit much. It’s not that he was afraid of being caught, it’s not like he hadn’t tracked Sam – unseen and unheard – before now. He could do it and he would be as stealthy as shit. But would he be now though? Could he sit there and watch Sam sit and talk with another boy, and god forbid there was any touching.

No.

So he sat and he waited and in the end Sam came to him and when it cam down to it, when he was getting exactly what he wanted, he didn’t push Sam away. Even though he knew he should have.

He really should have.

 

ǀǀ

 

 _III. John_

 

Sam was leaving. Sam wasn’t leaving them, Sam was leaving him. No, he knew that Sam had his reasons for leaving and John struggled with the warring feelings of pride, fear and a sad, sick sense of gladness because four years away would give both his boys a chance to grow out of what they had grown into.

 _Pride._ His boy got into Stanford. Got into _Stanford._ His boy was smart and capable and strong.

 _Fear._ His boy got into Stanford. Got into _Stanford._ His boy was going to be far away, and alone.

He didn’t want to think of the other feeling, he didn’t want to think of the nights he tried to ignore, he didn’t want to think of the nights he wasn’t there.

It was the fear the won out, like it always did. And like always he masked that fear with anger, better his sons hated him then think him weak. Or so he thought.

 

ǀǀ

 

 _IV. Sam and Dean_

 

Dean’s drunk. Dean is a melancholy drunk when he drinks alone in the sullen darkness of the motel room, and he was half way to a maudlin oblivion when Sam came into the room and sat on the bed beside him. Dean offered him the bottle he was holding but Sam shook his head no, he wasn’t all together sure what the dark liquid was.

“You know that’s a sign of sexual frustration don’t you?” Sam asked, his voice soft. He indicated the white and black flakes of paper littering the carpet. Dean had meticulously picked off the label.

Dean snorted like this was funny when really it wasn’t even.

Sam waited for what seemed like an age, hours could have passed while he hovered on the edge of his decision and in that time neither of them moved. Sam sucked in a steadying breath, it didn’t work, he still felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin if he didn’t do something and soon. Get up and leave, or stay, and touch. His body ached for some kind of movement. So he moved.

Dean was still holding the bottle loosely in his hand; he hadn’t taken another sip since Sam had sat Down. Sam took it from him and took a long hard pull. And then coughed it back up. It was goddamn liquid fire. His sudden coughing fit caused him to bend over double while he struggled to breathe. Smooth, he thought to himself between chokes, real smooth.

Dean was alert now, attentive. He sat up straight and moved just that couple of inches closer to Sam so that their thighs were touching. Slowly and soothingly Dean ran his fingers in gentle circles over Sam’s back, Sam was sure that he could hear Dean telling him to breathe. Which was just stupid, what else was he going to do? But he let it go because Dean’s voice was this silken rumble that slithered over his skin leaving goose bumps in its wake.

Sam sat back up once he could breathe again, Dean didn’t move away or let his arm drop. He just left it where it was, his hand pressing against Sam’s lower back in a parody of first date awkwardness.

Sam was painfully aware of how close they were, barely inches apart. And then they weren’t inches apart at all. Sam closed the gap and touched his lips to Dean’s. It wasn’t even a kiss, nothing more than a spilt second contact, but it was something. Sam rested his forehead against Dean’s, refusing to move away until Dean pushed him away. He tensed, waiting for the half expected shove, but it never came. Instead, Dean reached his hand up and cupped the back of Sam’s neck and murmured. “Sammy.”

Sam didn’t let himself speak, couldn’t let himself speak. Words might open the floodgates to logic and sense, and he didn’t want reason right now, he just wanted Dean.

Dean’s lips touched his, tentative, soft and warm. He felt the wetness of Dean’s tongue as it gently nudged his mouth open. Dean deepened the kiss. Dean tasted like cheap whisky and even cheaper beer, but Sam didn’t care. He pushed Dean back, but Dean resisted and stiffened like Sam was trying to push him away. But Sam persisted and pushed Dean back again, but this time he moved _with_ Dean. Trying not to break contact, Sam shuffled forward and Dean shuffled back until Dean’s back hit the headboard of the small bed. Sam swung a leg over to straddle his brother, settling so that Dean couldn’t help but feel Sam’s trapped erection. Dean moaned into Sam’s mouth as Sam ground his hips against him. Dean’s arms encircled Sam’s thin frame, supporting Sam as Sam moved. Dean’s hands pushed up and under Sam’s tee so Dean could feel Sam’s skin warm and flush. Sam’s hands were on Dean’s shoulders, pulling him closer as they both fell gratefully into their kiss. And in that moment there was nothing but _them_ and _this._

 

 _IV. Dean_

 

He came in his pants like he was 12 fucking years old again.

 

 _IV. Sam_

 

In the dizzying heights of that post orgasmic haze, he didn’t want to leave.

 

ǀǀ

 

 _V. John_

 

“If you’re going to leave, you’d better stay gone.”

 

ǀǀ

 

 _VI. Dean_

 

It had been four years and he still wasn’t over it.

 

VI. Sam

 

It had been four years and he thought he’d moved on. Sam considered himself light years removed from that fifteen year old boy who wanted something he couldn’t and shouldn’t have.

But he still jerked off to the half remembered sounds of his brothers muffled moans and the guilt gnawed at him.

 

ǀǀ

 

 _VII. Dean_

 

He was back to beating off in the shower while Sam slept uneasily in the next room. Dean bit his lip – hard enough to draw blood – and forcibly held in the exclamation of his orgasm because he didn’t want Sammy to hear. Sam slept so little and awoke so quick that Dean didn’t want him to wake up to this. Things were fucked to hell enough already without Sam thinking that Dean wanted to get into his pants barely weeks after his girlfriend died.

 

 _VII. Sam_

 

Sam was scared and hurting and alone and he wanted nothing more than for his brother to hold him. But every time he found the words to ask him without sounding like a girl, they came out wrong. Sarcastic, belligerent and fuelled by a grief turned to anger.

 

ǀǀ

 

 _VIII. Sam and Dean_

 

Dean was driving, attention half on the seemingly endless empty road and half on the selecting of new tunes. He fumbled the action of changing tapes over and one fell into his foot well.

“Ahh shit.”

“What?” Sam muttered sleepily, dazed from his light dozing.

Dean shifted down in his seat, accidentally revving the engine as his foot slipped. He felt around blindly for the cassette and the car swerved.

“I’ll get it.” Sam grumbled. “You’re gonna run us off the road.”

“I would never!” Dean exclaimed in mock shock, then he had to squeeze his eyes shut in an effort to ignore the fact that Sam’s face was suddenly very near to his crotch. Sam stayed down there a few moments, hesitant. And then…

“Pull over.”

“What?

“Pull over.”

“Why?”

“Pull. The. Fuck. Over.”

“Okay, okay.”

Sam stayed still until the car came to a stuttering halt and then he sat up and looked at Dean. Slowly and deliberately Sam licked his lips and blinked lazily. A myriad of emotions flashed through those expressive eyes and for a second, Sam was the picture of innocence and debauchery.

“You alright, Sam?”

Sam didn’t answer him, just reached out a hand and grabbed a fistful of Dean’s leather jacket and pulled him close. Dean had just enough time to let out a squawk of surprise before Sam’s lips were on his. Unlike their last kiss, this one wasn’t naively exploratory. No, it was rough and hard and desperate. Sam moaned his approval when Dean slid his hand, instinctively, up Sam’s leg, his fingers closing around the zipper of Sam’s jeans.

How they got out of the car, Dean will never know. Nothing more than what they were doing could happen in the front seats of the Impala, it was a big car but it wasn’t big enough for the enthusiastic rush of long limbs. Dean didn’t want to break contact with Sam just as much as Sam was reluctant to let Dean go, but somehow, _somehow,_ they got outside. Dean may have bumped his knee on the gear stick, but that was just some distant pain in the back of his mind.

“Fuck me.” Sam said in a voice that was half way to a growl, and even though Dean’s brain had already fast forwarded to this event, hearing the words aloud sent a jolt to his already erect dick. He looked around, the highway was deserted and he and Sam would soon be covered by the blanket of the approaching dark.

Dean looked at Sam and _ohgodnowSammywant._ Still, he could feel himself hesitate. He wasn’t prepared for this, and this was Sam, _Sammy._ He couldn’t.

But all thoughts of coherent, rational thinking went south because Sam leaned in close – too close – pressed Dean back against the Impala and dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder.

“Now, Dean. _Please._ ” Sam’s voice was the next best thing to a whimper.

It was in a tangle of denim and hushed, hurried, apologetic negotiating that Dean manoeuvred Sam so he was bent over the trunk of the Impala, jeans and shorts around his ankles. Dean placed his hands on Sam’s hips and bent down to kiss the back of Sam’s neck. He felt Sam shiver and he smiled. He didn’t have anything to smooth his entry into Sam and he muttered his sorry’s but Sam shook them off.

“In me.” Sam moaned. “Not a virgin, s’okay.”

Dean stretched and prepped as much as he could, enjoying Sam’s shudder as Dean fingered his prostate.

“Oh god, Sam.” Dean groaned in a breathy hiss. “So fucking tight. Feel so good.” Dean closed his eyes and gripped Sam’s hips tighter, hard enough to leave bruises, he knew this. “So good.”

Sam grunted and pushed back against him, offering nothing but unintelligible babble as he beat his fists against the car.

“So good. So so good.”

 

ǀǀ

 

 _VX. John_

 

He was an intruder, intruding on something painfully private, something he couldn’t understand.

The theory was that he would come back when he was ready, when he felt able to collect his boys and they would go and fight and kill. The reality was that his boys weren’t where he left them, they weren’t the same boys he left behind, they were two men who may have wanted him with them, but they didn’t need him. It was supposed to be the way it was before, like he had never left. He expected nothing less. But his boys wouldn’t fall in line, even Dean, because they weren’t boys anymore.

He heard them. He heard them before he got to the motel door; they weren’t even trying to be quiet because they weren’t expecting him back from the meeting with his source, not until tomorrow. But the source hadn’t showed and so here he was. Intruding. John walked up to the door, the lights were on inside the room but the threadbare curtains were closed, not that the thin material was any good at blocking the view inside. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t fight the urge to look.

John wanted to be revolted by what he saw, but he couldn’t see wrong in taking comfort where you found it. His boys had never grown apart, would never grown apart, and they fit. They fit together and he was a spare part.

Slowly John stepped away from the make shift faux porch that was the motels décor. He walked away, he would come back tomorrow at the time they were expecting him.

 

FIN.


End file.
